


Twice Bitten, Never Shy

by SingingShantiesAllTheWay



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Multi, Oscar finds biting sexy, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vampire Bites, Vampires, Who is shocked by this, chatfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27885574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingingShantiesAllTheWay/pseuds/SingingShantiesAllTheWay
Summary: Oscar Wilde feeds his friends.
Relationships: Sasha Racket/Oscar Wilde, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	Twice Bitten, Never Shy

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a chatfic, written to make some darling friends bluescreen, and it did its job admirably. Now I share with you.

Sasha was so small, and Wilde felt huge and clumsy next to her as she tugged him to a chaise ("Y'r gonna wanna sit f'r this, mate, promise,") and nudged his hip to encourage him to take a seat.

Sasha was so small, but she was so _strong_ , and Wilde sucked in a shocked gasp when she fisted her hand in his hair, twisted to tangle it around her fingers, and tugged his head back and to the side (rough, a little, and oh he _liked it_ , was already a little hard just from _this_ ) to expose his throat. "Y'got a gorgeous neck," she said, voice a little rougher even than usual, and Wilde swallowed, aware even as he did it what it would do, how it would emphasise the thrumming vein just beneath his skin. The widening of her eyes was extremely validating, and he felt his cock twitch in response to the clear hunger in her expression.

Sasha was so small, and so strong, and so _fast_ , and Wilde cried out when her mouth was suddenly on his throat, her viciously sharp fangs sunk effortlessly through his skin, and the strength of her feeding made his heart stutter painfully against its cage of his ribs and it was _perfect_ , it was _sublime_ , it was _unbearably ecstatic_ and he was so. Achingly. _Desperately_. Hard even as he felt another hand (larger than hers, heavier) twist itself into his hair and pull back (he whined at the shift of her teeth, still buried in his throat) to give access to the other side of his neck.

The second set of fangs was as viciously sharp as the first, and Zolf drew _hard_ on the artery into which he'd dug. The pressure was excruciating; he choked on a desperate wail at the push-and-pull of both of them at once dragging the hearts-blood from his vulnerable, aching throat, and Wilde arched his hips up in a futile, instinctive seeking for friction, for pressure, for anything besides his trousers to _rut_ against.

When he felt two hands drop simultaneously to stroke him through the fabric, Wilde _sobbed-_

-and _fell_ -

- _apart-_

-while the world shattered around him and its fractured shards transfixed him spine and gut and belly and mind with blistering ecstasy-

-and Wilde slid into welcoming unconsciousness in the slipstream of his orgasm, secure in the care he knew they’d take of him while he dreamed.


End file.
